Valentine M'Clutchy, The Irish Agent eBook

The extraordinary scene which we have just detailed
as occurring in the mountain hut, took place on Saturday
morning and about twelve on the subsequent Monday,
the following dialogue passed between honest Val! and
his son, Philip the graceful.

“That was a most unlucky accident that happened
Harpur on Saturday,” said Val, dryly, and looking
with a good deal of significance at the other.

“Unlucky,” said Phil, “faith and
honor, my good father, I don’t know what to
think.”

“You don’t, Phil!” replied Val;
“why, what the deuce could you deem more unlucky
than to be shot stone dead, without a moment’s
notice.”

Phil’s color went a little at the bare notion
of such a fate; but on observing an expression of
peculiar complacency lurking in his father’s
eye, it returned again, and after a little assurance
settled down into its original hue.

“To himself certainly,” said Phil, “it
was a bad business; no one can deny that.”

“But, my excellent son, Phil, it may turn out
a very lucky incident for us in the mean time.
He is, Phil, a wise man in this world who can turn
the misfortunes or crimes of others to his own advantage.
There is Harman for instance, Phil; now I believe
you are not excessively attached to him.”

“I hate him as I do hell,” replied Phil.

“Very good—­you hate him as you do
hell—­well, on the other hand, there is
M’Loughlin, his partner in the manufactory, and
his joint lessee in their farm—­now I hate
him as I do—­I was about to say the devil—­but
I feel loth to render that misrepresented gentleman
an injustice—­that is, if there be such
a gentleman—­which, with my worthy father,
I much doubt. Don’t you think now it is
a fortunate thing that we can indict Harman for Harpur’s
murder. I really think, and it is said, he murdered
him. We would include the priest in the indictment
as accessory, but that might be attended with personal
danger—­and the less real danger we incur
the better for ourselves.”

“Faith and honor, father, that doctrine’s
worthy of an oracle—­as, indeed, most of
what you say is.”

“But mark me, Phil; our object is simply his
ruin, not his death. Let us beggar M’Loughlin
and him, and drive them out of the country. No—­no—­not
the death of either of them; on the contrary, I should
wish them to live, if it was only that they might
feel my revenge—­and that I knew they felt
it. I would not hang them if I could, for my own
sake.” He got pale, ground his teeth, knit
his black beetle brow, and exhibited the diabolical
cast of features for which he was remarkable whenever
his evil passions began to stir in his heart.